When I look at this picture, I think I must have been a bit crazy, because it was such a nightmare to produce. Doing it for real, my avowed philosophy, necessitated on this occasion huge wooden telegraph poles, (…) bulldozers, pile drivers and teams of rugged chaps to help erect the poles in conditions (not that you’d know looking at the end result) which were truly abysmal, comprising acres of wet slushy mud, wind and driving rain. Whichever memory I dredge up serves only to confirm a suspicion of implicit madness, be it the awkwardness and sheer weight of the poles, (…) or persuading luckless friends and models that they were perfectly safe sitting on top (and how they wouldn’t die of exposure or vertigo no siree)… Just as well I like the environment. Just as well I like the image or I’d know for sure there was a screw loose.

And there they are sitting atop their poles, stretched out across the landscape transmitting their message skywards, mental transmissions forming a line of thread like beacons of old, receivable at a distance, the message free from ground interference, free from the business of everyday life, the messengers atop their special poles saying save our planet, save the earth from its own suicidal tendencies. This message can only be successfully transmitted if human transmitters do it together, focussed, in concert, combining the energies of lots of people at the same time. Fanciful you might say but overwhelmingly desirable.